


Thank you, stylist noona!

by krosevilla



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Han Jisung | Han, Butt Plugs, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, Light Choking, M/M, Minho's "My House" Mesh Shirt teehee, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Strength Kink, Top Lee Minho | Lee Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krosevilla/pseuds/krosevilla
Summary: Lee Minho is a patient man.He is also a good boyfriend, so when Jisung says they can't do any funny business until after all their live stages are over with, he relents.Minho thanks his lucky stars that Jisung is not as patient.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 19
Kudos: 249





	Thank you, stylist noona!

**Author's Note:**

> this is filthy. i'm sorry mom.
> 
> anyways, i hope u enjoy this! i wanted to take a break from working on my chaptered fic since i haven't done so since i began to work on it in late November so i wanted to try something out of my comfort zone! this is also prob the fluffiest thing i will ever write, because i am the harbinger of angst :,)

Minho likes to think he’s a patient man.

He doesn’t mind letting the other members take both the bathrooms first so they can wash away the day’s stress and hit their mattresses as soon as possible. Loading screens don’t tick him off as much as they should, instead giving him an excuse to scroll through which new filter he should use for his next social media post. If there’s a certain move one of the boys can’t get down, he won’t rush their progress and does his best to teach at their own pace rather than his own. 

But Lee Minho is human. He is a man. A growing, hormonal man. 

And when Jisung is walking around the dorms drowning in one of _Minho’s_ oversized hoodies, boxers hidden away by the hem of the cloth, and the lean muscles of his legs are out in full display—Minho is patient, but he is a man.

As difficult as the situation presents to his self-control, he is also a good boyfriend. So after Jisung tells him that they’re not doing anything behind closed doors before all of their end of the year/new year performances are over with, he relents (after _much_ disapproval—but Jisung had given him one of those radiant, gummy smiles in response to Minho’s incessant whining and it had lifted whatever other discontent had been ready in his arsenal). 

So, he pours his efforts into perfecting their routines, spending extra time at the gym, going overtime with his vocal coach when he can, because everyone else is working diligently to ensure they’re doing their very best and it’s his duty to do the same. 

Though this doesn’t mean that he doesn’t try his luck every now and then.

On very few occasions where he’s managed to get Jisung alone enough for the possibility of _something_ to happen, the younger is always quick to read him and even quicker to swat his advances away with the promise of “after all the live stages, you big baby.”

And Minho relents. Because he a good, patient boyfriend.

Fortunately, he actually doesn’t need to suffer for much longer. Or that’s what he’s hoping as Jisung is currently dragging him through the hallway of the hotel to who knows where. And Minho is pretty certain that this isn’t all wishful thinking since, just after they had finished their ‘My House’ stage and were filing into the backstage area of the stadium, Jisung had most definitely given him _that_ look—the one where he drags darkened pupils down Minho’s figure and back up to peer through fluttering lashes, his plump bottom lip caught between whitened teeth and petite fingers tugging suggestively at the sleeve of the older’s blazer. Even now, his stomach is still somersaulting from the implications behind the breathlessness in which Jisung had asked him to follow without question. Minho still can’t wipe the giddy smile off his face.

“Hannie, where are we going? We need to return these clothes.”

Jisung ignores his question, as he has been doing for the last few minutes of their escapade, but it only solidifies Minho’s assumption that he only has one thing on his mind. They finally get to a destination, Jisung fumbling a key card out from his back pocket and pushing open the door as soon as the lock beeps green. He peeks his head inside first, then herds Minho in once he deems the coast is clear.

The hotel room is an exact replica of the one that SBS had provided for them. A couple of bags are thrown around the various chairs and sofas furnishing the two-bedroom suite, large puffy jackets shoved into the sleek wooden closet that somewhat seem familiar. After giving Jisung a questioning look, the blonde finally tears down his stoic guise and seemingly finds the carpet the most interesting thing in the world.

“I asked BamBam-hyung to borrow the room since they’re gonna be on stand-by for the next two hours,” he mumbles, fiddling with the crisp sleeves of his cropped blazer.

Minho’s brows shoot up. He would fist pump with a comical enthusiasm if it weren’t for his hands shoved into the pockets of his (rather too tight) leather pants. 

Not even last week was Jisung whacking him with a towel after Minho had tried to cop a feel when all the other members had effectively locked themselves in their rooms for the night. But now, the same Jisung has lead him to an empty bedroom—one that’s access had probably been accompanied by BamBam’s embarrassing teasing—with not-so-innocent intentions after kicking Minho’s libido to the curb since their ‘All In’ comeback debut.

So Minho _absolutely_ has the right to be a little shit.

“Oh?” he quips. “But the members are gonna be looking for us, don’t you think?”

“I told Chan-hyung you were with me ‘cause I needed a break from all the crowds.”

“Don’t you wanna watch the other performances to support?”

“They’ll be uploaded anyways.”

“Aren’t you tired? Don’t you wanna rest?”

“Min, we’re _always_ tired.”

“We should probably return these outfits.”

Jisung huffs out an aggravated sigh through his nose as he glares up at Minho’s grinning face. “Your outfit should be illegal.”

Now _that_ peaks Minho’s interest. 

“And why is that, baby?” His voice dampers down to a smooth husk as he traces fingertips along the leather of Jisung’s belt until he can press them firmly into what would be love handles if it weren’t for an insane metabolism. The combination must have flipped a switch, because the younger’s eyes immediately shine over with something fiery that ghosts a shiver down the grooves of Minho’s spine.

Expertly applied makeup brings out the sultry gleam in his gaze, his hair that was once styled to perfection already fallen into tussled strands from the choreography they had finished less than an hour prior. Pink tint colors his parted lips under gloss smeared by a darting tongue that Minho would love to feel against his own. 

Han Jisung is divine in every way that only the most gifted writers can conjure in lovestruck poetry. And he’s Minho’s to ruin.

“Hm, baby?” Minho rasps once more, gently. The pet name pushes the supple flesh of Jisung’s bottom lip in between his teeth. Wandering eyes heat Minho’s insides where they settle on his chest underneath the mesh material beneath his blazer. 

“You were so distracting on stage.” The skin sizzles under Jisung’s hand as it trails from the smooth expanse of Minho’s clavicle down along the seam of his shirt up till the buttons of his jacket obstruct its path. “Being behind you for most of the choreo was basically torture.”

A small pout appears on his mouth now, and Minho resists the urge to lean forward and nip at it. The mere centimeters between them could have been erased so easily, so quickly. But he still wants to have his own fun.

“Because of my outfit?”

The blonde gives a curt, maybe even timid nod. “You _know_ why.”

And Minho does. He knows exactly what his boyfriend is talking about. He knew, from the second the stylist had shown him his newly approved stage attire during the dress rehearsal, what a specific aspect of the clothes would do.

It was a big part of how they finally got together. Minho and Jisung had danced around each other for months on end after their debut, earning many exasperated and knowing looks from their members. Even after finally getting the okay from Chan to pursue something further than their pining, Minho played dumb. Chan just sighed and warned him not to do anything that would hurt the group, especially after fighting for them in the handful of instances where staff had passively mentioned the tension between the two during meetings. He told Minho not to hurt Jisung. And Minho didn’t want to risk any of that—

Until their broken heater had gone into overdrive and prompted Minho to walk about their dorm sans shirt in an effort to ease the discomfort of their stuffy dorm. He had been bulking up, hitting the gym in hopes of being able to get their choreographer to finally give in to teaching him how to breakdance, so the swell of more defined muscles and shapes along his upper body was more prominent as of late. Only two other members were home, but once Changbin had vacated the premises after howling at him to ‘be safe, you two!’, only Jisung was left in his room mumbling to himself as he scribbled lyrics into his notebook.

Minho had asked if he wanted anything to eat and the younger had sputtered incoherently upon seeing the lack of clothes on Minho’s person. It was funny at first, to see Jisung grow red in the face and rake his brain for words that usually come to him all too quickly. It was funny till he realized that they were home _alone_ , and that he was _partially naked_ in _Jisung’s room_ where the _sexual tension_ was _suffocating_.

But Minho was still practicing his patience, and made no move to comment on the situation or he might have given in to the vomit climbing up his throat. Jisung, however, was not as patient, shoved his reddening cheeks into his hands, and groaned about how awful their very evident mutual pining was for his heart. One thing led to another—confessions led to a very handsy make out session—and now they were going almost eleven months strong. All because Jisung was the first to cave, egged on to do so by Minho’s ( _maybe_ deliberate) exposure of his upper body.

Sounds very familiar.

“You’re so annoying,” Jisung grumbles and pushes his forehead into Minho’s neck. “You _know_ that I have a thing for your back muscles.”

Minho mistakenly lets out the tiniest of giggles which results in a punch to his arm and needing to grapple the other back into his grip once he tries to escape.

“I’m sorry! I’m not laughing at you.”

“You’re annoying!”

“I laughed because you’re cute,” Minho presses delighted kisses to Jisung’s face, heart swelling at the way the plump flesh of his cheek raises under his smile as the younger dawns one of his own.

“Stop being a little shit. You’re only teasing because I was the one who said we shouldn’t do anything.” 

“You know me so well. Have I told you how much I love you? Don’t be mad at me, you love me and I love you and up we go—!”

Jisung squeals as he’s hoisted up onto Minho’s shoulder. The latter carries him over to the nearest bed and deposits him into the primly made bedding in one swift motion, the lovely smell of freshly laundered linen wafting into the air. It blends pleasantly with the fits of laughter that paint the room pink.

Through his giggles, Jisung banters, “You big show-off.”

Minho is patient. He likes to believe that he is able to reign in his desires and urges pending the right time, just so the reward is all the more satisfying. So when he finally leans down, his chest full of something sweet as he watches Jisung’s twinkling eyes slowly flutter closed, and latches their lips together, it’s like fireworks at dusk. It’s like fresh snowfall without buffeting winds, and diving in crystal clear waters in the raging heat. They’ve kissed hundreds, maybe thousands of times at this point, but the crackle in his veins never seems to fade as time ticks forward. 

It’s an unhurried, easy kiss—the type where silent words are embedded into loving touches and languid turns of the head. Minho can kiss his boyfriend like this till his mind slips into madness, because he is completely and utterly mad for Han Jisung. 

Minutes pass like that, though they stretch long and feel like forever, until Minho thumbs down Jisung’s chin to part his mouth for him to slip his tongue inside where it’s welcomed warmly. The soft kisses take a sensual turn, little whines leaving Jisung’s throat that colored with a building want. Heat begins to pool in Minho’s gut more fervidly with every pretty sound, especially once Jisung hooks his legs over the sides of Minho’s hips and pulls them impossibly closer.

Flushed and glowing, Jisung’s face is haloed by ashy blonde hair when they pull apart. Minho braces one arm beside his head while the other slinks downwards, pressure firm under his fingertips to feel every excited shiver, and finds a place in the curve of Jisung’s lower back. He flushes their bodies together, chest to chest and hip to hip. It draws out tremoring sighs from both of them, but the contact isn’t enough.

“Baby,” Minho whispers. “Lemme sit up for a sec.”

Reluctantly, Jisung relinquishes his arms from around Minho’s neck, and the latter straightens himself up to unbutton and shrug off his blazer, cursing when his forgotten belt prevents the motion to be anywhere near as smooth as he was aiming for. A light and happy giggle bubbles out from below him, so Minho smiles as he finally rips the offending garments from his body. 

The smile stays while he looks down at Jisung nestled into the sheets, arms framing his messy head of hair and the twinkle in his eyes shining brightly beneath his colored contacts. He’s already flushed with little puffs of air heaving from his chest, the opened collar of his dress shirt falling and rising with the motion. Minho wonders if this is what Jisung would look like—crisp suit and product-heavy hair falling apart in their passion—on the night of their honeymoon. He would probably look older, maybe with a different hair color and features defined with age. The thought leads Minho to surge back down and fit their lips together in a way that he hopes can convey how drunk in love he feels.

This time around, their kisses start off open-mouthed, more desperate than before. Jisung threads his fingers through the brunette locks on Minho’s scalp as the latter begins to mouth wetly at his jaw down the column of his neck. Suddenly, Jisung tugs his head up by the grip on his hair, and Minho grunts out a pleased noise. 

“As much as I love those clothes on you, I really think you’d look better without them,” Jisung gives him a snarky flash of teeth, but the confidence he wears is laced with something needier. 

“I look good all the time.” Unamused, though equally as fond, Jisung shoves at his shoulder so he can sit up enough to start peeling off his own blazer. Minho smiles through their next kiss, holding the smaller by his waist in an effort to make the undressing process a bit easier for him. 

Jisung has popped open the first three buttons of his dress shirt before Minho’s desire to mouth at his boyfriend’s chest leads him to tug the hem of the offending garment out from where it’s tucked into his trousers and over Jisung’s head. He immediately dips his head down to nip at Jisung’s clavicle, eliciting whiney whispers that encourage every hard press of teeth to pale skin, every swipe of his tongue over fresh marks that would look better if they never faded. 

Minho is so focused on trailing small bites up to suck at that one sensitive area behind Jisung’s ear that he barely registers nimble fingers unzipping his pants up till a firm hand palms at his hardening length through the thin fabric of his boxers. Minho breathes in sharply at the contact, almost delirious at how good it feels compared to his own hand in the nights he was feeling exceptionally hot and bothered. It fuels the next bite at Jisung’s neck to be harder than intended, ripping a wanting cry from the younger’s throat that makes Minho feel hotter, more eager, less caring at the consequences of these spur-of-the-moment actions if they can make him sound like _that_ again.

“Min,” Jisung hums as the hand grips along the shape of Minho beneath his underwear. “I want everything off.”

Minho probably would have teased him a bit more before giving in, enjoying the way Jisung squirms and begs for his wishes to be fulfilled. But the next time they’ll be able to indulge in their urges like this is unknown, whether it be next week or next month or even later than that, so Minho wants to take as much time melted into each other as he can possibly grasp. 

He unbuckles and slips Jisung’s belt from its place around his waist, throwing it to the side with their other clothes that lay haphazardly alongside the bed or the carpet. The rest of their outfits follow suit, getting tossed aside until Jisung’s pants are the last to be shoved off aside from their boxers.

“Wait,” Jisung grunts, and Minho freezes. He watches as the blonde reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small aluminum packet. 

“Oh,” Minho breathes. “Have you been anticipating this?”

Despite the red flushing up his neck and down his chest, the grin on Jisung’s face is still as cocky as ever. Though he sounds minutely abashed as he admits, “I might have.”

Minho supplies what he hopes is an amused look cloaked over his lust. “What other surprises do you have back there?” 

“Why don’t you find out?” The rhetoric dissolves in their mouths, Jisung sliding his tongue along the inside of Minho’s teeth to lick out a satisfied groan. Only when Jisung begins to buck up in a restless fit to slot their hips together does the older pull back to finally strip off Jisung’s slacks, the material soft and silken to touch. 

Minho slides his hands down Jisung’s sides, relishing in the feeling of the hot skin quivering in desperation for more. He pulls them both into a sitting position, Jisung’s weight on his lap reassuring and so _right_. 

Through the panting in between kisses and the distracting sensation of blunt nails raking down his shoulders, Minho snakes a hand to Jisung’s ass, squeezing at the swell of plump flesh and dipping below the elastic of his underwear to sink prying fingers lower.

Jisung retreats to lean back in Minho’s grip, smiling at the brunette’s whine of disapproval, but peering at him in the taut-browed look he wears when he’s anticipating something. Minho almost gives in to ask what exactly he’s expecting—what Jisung _needs_ —because he’s feeling a bit like putty in his boyfriend’s hands right now, until the rough pads of his fingers dip just a bit further down. 

The smile grows into a full, playful grin as he watches Minho’s eyes widen in disbelief. His dick twitches at the hard silicone that his fingertips come into contact with, mouth gaping around words he can’t find. 

“Are you…?” 

Jisung nods, practically vibrating at the aspect of rendering his boyfriend speechless. “I didn’t want to waste time prepping.”

Minho’s heart stutters and he feels hot down to his bones. He is way beyond gone for Han Jisung.

He digs his grip into the muscle of Jisung’s thighs and yanks them forward until the latter flops back onto the mattress with a squeak. He looks so small drowning in the queen-sized comforter, teetering on the edge of sex-crazed from the glassy look over blown pupils. Minho’s gaze dances its way down the constellation of hickeys scattered across Jisung’s chest, along the toned lines of his abs, and eventually comes to rest on the bulge protruding beneath red cotton fabric. The tip of Jisung’s dick is peeking out from the elastic, color similar to his underwear and already oozing onto his navel. 

A wiggle of the hips coaxes Minho into action; the latter knows without the clarification of words that Jisung is growing more fidgety the longer their lips aren’t connected, the less their skin touches, or, in this case, the more time Minho takes to admire every enamoring detail of the boy below him. 

Hooking his fingers into the grey band of Jisung’s briefs, he slowly pulls them down. There’s something enthralling about watching the smooth skin kiss the air inch by inch at his own doing. Whitewashed cameras do nothing to show the true beauty of Jisung’s olive skin, radiating the warmth that surrounds his every aspect. Minho finally slips the underwear down those tantalizing legs and off for the younger’s erection to spring free.

Jisung breathes a shaking sigh of relief at the exposure, gripping at the sheets like it’s the only thing grounding him to reality. They’re both almost fully hard despite being mere minutes solely into heavy petting, but months of repressing their libidos in their peak hormonal years leaves their enthusiasm as no surprise.

Minho licks into Jisung’s mouth one final time before he loops an arm around the smaller’s tiny waist and flips him onto his stomach. Jisung gasps, then shudders out a pleased noise when Minho presses a firm palm to his nape to hold him down against the mattress. 

Jisung has always had a thing for Minho’s strength. He’s been very obvious about how it turns him on—feeling small and defenseless under his boyfriend’s bulking figure. Not that he hasn’t tried to put on a few pounds himself, but there was one cool spring night laid under thin blanket covers where Jisung had revealed that it made him feel incredibly safe to have Minho’s firm arms around him. It was comforting, like a place where he could let himself be vulnerable in a world where they had to constantly keep a careful guard up. He knew that Minho could very well overpower him but would absolutely never go through with the action, and that hung hot and heavy in his gut.

Initially, Minho wasn’t sure how to go about giving the younger what he wanted, silently scared of pushing him too far or accidentally roughing him up in the haze of the moment. But Jisung is always full of surprises. 

“Fuck, Min, please.” Minho puts more of his weight into his hand, sinking Jisung further into the bed as he admires the sight before him. 

The butt plug is a black, firm silicone with its hooked stopper slightly glistening with lube. Minho runs his thumb over it. He sits back on his heels to ogle the way Jisung’s ass swallows the plug, giving it a slight smack when Jisung complains about the loss of pressure on his back. A startled yelp rips through the heated air, followed by a wave of shivers that ripple down Jisung’s leg as he pants harder.

“M-Min, _please_.”

“Please what?” Another slap, another cry of pleasure. 

Jisung’s voice is quieter, already wrecked though he’s barely been touched. “ _Please_ hurry up.”

Minho glides his hands over to quivering hips, pulling them higher into the air hard enough that he hopes bruises dark enough to at least survive the next day. Just so he could catch a glimpse of them and be reminded of what he had done while settled in between Jisung’s lovely little thighs.

“Bossy, though you’re really not in the position to be.” He gives an experimental tug at the butt plug, fascinated as the ring of muscle around it twitches and spasms out of sync from the mewls spilling from Jisung’s lips. 

Suddenly, Minho’s mouth runs dry. “Did… did you have this in during the performance?”

He gets a breathy laugh in response. “Just for you. Got ready j-just for you.”

And just like that, Minho finds himself careening off the edge.

He groans low, wondering how in the hell he’ll ever be able to rewatch the stage performance later knowing that every step Jisung took probably rubbed the plug against his walls, probably set his body ablaze in a dull throb inside him from his every movement—all while he _watched Minho from behind_. 

“God, Hannie, you were so good for me, weren’t you?” Any form of response behind Jisung’s cheeky grin bleeds into a choked whine as Minho inches the silicone out till the tip threatens to leave him empty and plunges it back in just as deep as before. The pretty sounds that stutter out as he begins fucking it into Jisung are like a pleasant melody to his ears, swirling around his head and flooding his senses. It’s incredibly tempting to tease him like this until he’s begging for release, but the strain in his boxers is beginning to border onto unbearable. He gives one last smack to Jisung’s ass before ultimately yanking the plug out for it to fall onto the bed with a noiseless thud. The hole gapes at the loss, shining wetly as if inviting Minho to dive right back in. 

“Baby, open up.”

Minho props an arm above Jisung's shoulder to hover over him, the latter’s mouth hanging slack to greedily clamp down on the three fingers Minho offers to his lips. He lathers them with his tongue, sucking them as deep as they can go as his eyes flutter shut. It shoots lighting down his arm, through his chest where he lowers himself to press against the curve of Jisung’s lithe figure. 

“So eager for something in your mouth,” Minho nips at the joint of Jisung’s shoulder, the salty tang of sweat and pleasure soaking into his palate. “You like when I shove my fingers down your throat? Or would you rather have me hold you in place while I fuck your face? Get your pretty lips all nice and swollen around my cock.” He emphasizes the notion by grinding his clothed bulge against the cleft of Jisung’s ass, gritting his teeth in anticipation. He smiles lazily when Jisung subconsciously tries to chase his fingers once they retract from his mouth.

“O- _Oh_ , fuck,” Jisung drawls when the older dips his newly spit-soaked digits down the bottom of his spine to circle his hole. “W-want that. All of it, Min— _fuck_.”

Though he can be extremely mouthy on a day-to-day basis, Jisung becomes nearly nonverbal once he’s worked up enough. Like sentences can’t form in the midst of processing the pleasure that he not only receives but wants to give. So Minho talks him through it, because nothing about what they have is quiet when they feel this alive.

“Want me to pin you down while I fuck you nice and hard from behind, right? I’ll fuck you into the sheets, just like you want. You waited so long for this. So good to me.” 

“So— _ha_ … so good, Min…,” Jisung practically melts into the sheets once Minho’s fingers finally slide into him, the two gliding in easily from the stretch that the butt plug had supplied them with. He makes these stilted, guttural noises that lap at Minho’s dick with every curl of his fingers. 

At this point, the teasing and playfulness had completely gone over their heads, replaced by the pure desire to relish getting lost in one another. 

Minho bends forward again until they fit together, like two pieces turning whole, and slips his free arm under the shorter’s heaving ribs, past his sternum to delicately wrap fingers around the damp skin of his throat. 

“This okay?” He receives an enthusiastic nod before he even finishes the question.

“P-please, harder,” the demand is subdued in a sense, which only spurs Minho on. His grip tightens and the choked moan he gets in return shoots straight down to his groin.

His chest plasters itself onto Jisung’s back, only leaving space so he can continue twisting skilled fingers into the hot walls pulling him in. He eventually adds a third, knuckles rubbing just past the rim, which grants him the ability to finally reach the spot that has Jisung keening in pleasure from beneath him. Minho keeps murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, dusting wherever he can with open-mouthed kisses until the spit coating his fingers all but wears out and the younger grows almost pathetic in his pleading. 

“Ready for you, Min—Just for you,” he blabbers more words along those lines, though they’re stunted from the hand latched around his throat. 

“Just for me,” is all Minho can utter back. His head is fogged with Jisung, Jisung, _Jisung_ here under him, begging to be filled and Minho being able to give him what he wants. So he retracts both his hold around Jisung’s neck and his fingers inside him to finally rid himself of his own pesky boxers. His cock springs up angrily, flushing dark after being disregarded for so long. _It’s worth it though_ , he thinks as he snatches the packet of lube tossed onto the pillowcases above them, sits back up to tear it open, and drizzles the contents on. It’s not terribly cold, but the heat around them is sweltering, so he can’t help a quiet hiss as he lathers his erection with the lube. 

Minho gives it a couple more pumps, ignoring the few droplets that drip onto the bedding in favor of eyeing up the fair complexion of Jisung’s ass in contrast to the red pucker of his hole. “Are you ready, love?”

Jisung arches his back deeper, lifts his hips higher, sounding winded with his soft, “Yeah, ready. I love you.” 

And Minho _swoons_.

With that, he nudges the tip of his cock in slowly. His eyes almost roll back from the feeling of Jisung enveloping him, fitting snug and perfect like they were made for each other. He doesn’t fight the whimper that kicks out from his chest when the younger clenches down a bit, continuing to drive the rest of his length in until he’s fully seated inside. Jisung’s warmth is dizzying, leaving Minho breathless from how it threatens to overwhelm every one of his senses. All he sees is Jisung throwing his head down against the sheets, hears the air grow hotter and heavier around sighs of pleasure, feels everything sink further into Jisung, tastes the ghost of their kisses, breathes in the scent of their perspiration as it fills his lungs.

Jisung lets out an unsteady exhale when his boyfriend bottoms out. He props himself onto his elbows, panting through the sensation of growing accustomed to the stretch around Minho’s cock. They relinquish movement for a few seconds, the sounds of ragged breathing bouncing off the hotel walls in the stillness. Only when Jisung slides his knees further apart, spreading his cheeks to flush their hips even more together, does Minho speak up again.

“Tell me when, baby,” he puffs out, because as much as he wants to plunge himself further into his boyfriend’s heat, Minho is patient. 

Instead of verbal confirmation, Jisung starts to rut back in quick, desperate rocks of the hips when his words fail him. Minho sputters out a deep groan as he stitches one hand to the younger’s hip and the other fits into the dip of his spine. The view is amazing, with Jisung fucking himself onto Minho’s cock in an almost tormented attempt for release, whining softly in little pleas for Minho to do something.

“Min—!” he cries out. “M-Min, Min, you have to—!”

Minho uses his grip on Jisung’s hip to help roll him onto his dick, granting some alleviation but knowing it won’t be enough. “Tell me what you want.”

A frustrated moan breaks the string of whimpers. “Please, do something.”

“Say it,” Minho says in a low tone. “You were the one who wanted to abstain. Say it.”

“C-can’t, Min— _please_.”

The brunette gifts the request with a single, sharp thrust, Jisung wailing at the relief only to regress to his whining once he realizes it won’t continue. “You broke your own rules, baby. Admit what you want. Admit that you want it.”

“I want it,” he sobs. “I want you to—to fuck me, please, _please_ fuck me. Fucking break me the way I deserve it. I-I need you, I love you, Min.”

“God, I love you, too.” Minho runs the hand from Jisung’s lower back along his spine to tug him up by the shoulder. Jisung grunts in surprise, locking his elbows straight to bear his weight and arching his back. The last thing Minho hears is an excited, breathless laugh before he digs his fingers into Jisung’s velvety skin and begins pistoning into him at a brutal speed.

He develops a rhythm quickly, pulling out halfway to snap back in just as rough, just as hard to reward every broken moan that wretches out of Jisung’s throat. It’s uncertain whether or not the walls will contain the sheer volume of Jisung’s voice, but Minho can’t find it in himself to care when his name is constantly thrown into the mess of raw sounds and pleas. 

The room fills with the sound of skin slapping together in a filthy bliss, their bodies glowing under the dimmed light of the bedside lamp and the falling sun streaking through a gap in the curtains. Minho snakes his arms around Jisung’s torso, one latching across his waist with the other moving to fasten around his throat again. Jisung moans pornographically, leaning his weight into Minho’s hold to further cut off the circulation in his airway. 

“ _Ha_ —hyung,” sounds like a prayer from begging lips. “Feels good, feels amazing.”

“Fuck, Ji, you’re amazing,” Minho winds his fingers around Jisung’s neglected cock and starts to pump it in sync with his thrusts. Choked and needy cries are heavenly on his ears. 

He keeps the tempo, rolling into Jisung’s heat with the pooling in his groin growing by the second. The blonde holds onto both of Minho’s wrists in an attempt to brace himself as he gets rammed into oblivion. Indiscernible blabber pours out his lips while Minho bites into the junction of his neck, mouthing at it afterwards in apology when it blooms purple and angry. They grow messier, hips going off rhythm every now and then, their bodies sliding together in the slick of their sweat, but it’s everything that Minho missed and more.

“W-wait—Min, I’m close—!” Jisung whimpers.

Minho nods in his stupor though Jisung can’t see it, and gives one last, rough thrust to draw out a broken moan that curls deep in his gut before pulling out. They both laugh when Jisung flops to his side, unable to support his own weight from how wobbly his limbs are. “I’m gonna die,” he beams up Minho as he rolls onto his back. “You’re gonna kill me, you brute.”

“Not yet, I’m not done,” Minho peppers a few kisses into Jisung’s smile until the latter puckers back. They share a couple more gentle kisses, lips smacking sweetly and wetly, before Minho begins trailing them down his jaw to one of the marks on his neck, a silent ‘thank you’ for Jisung changing their positions _just for him_. 

Because even though Jisung thinks it’s beyond embarrassing, he knows that Minho loves witnessing the moment he unravels up close. And he really does—he loves the way Jisung’s focus becomes so hazy, how he bares his teeth into heart-shaped concentration, how he looks into Minho’s eyes like he’s giving him the entire universe. And Minho would.

But for now, he gives him what is needed in the heat of the moment and pushes back into Jisung with a hard, rough movement that has the younger scrambling for purchase on his back. Minho’s body feels like he’s on fire, nerves burning where Jisung rakes his nails down the planes of his shoulders, his fingers scorched as they press hard enough into his boney hips so they can bruise but not break. 

A few thrusts in, Jisung manages another, “Wait, I— _ah_ , please…!”

“What do you need, love?” the older pants into his mouth.

“Min, lemme ride you,” and Minho swears he almost goes cross-eyed. “I wanna ride you, please.”

And all he can do is nod dumbly, grinning stupidly as he rolls them over and Jisung laughs into his mouth. Dumb and stupidly in love with this beautiful boy who is looking down at him like he’s equally in love, and they _are_. 

They’re both out of breath, out of touch with the outside world, and it’s so perfect. Perfect when Jisung steadies himself with trembling thighs caging in Minho’s hips, arms beamed upon the firm muscle of his chest. Perfect in every shaky upstroke that has both of them groaning once Jisung lets gravity take him. 

“Lean back, baby,” Minho brings his legs closer together, planting his heels against the mattress while Jisung follows instruction and splays his hands behind him over the older’s taut thighs. 

Minho cradles his boyfriend’s waist, hold firm as he appreciates how _tiny_ he is, how easy it would be to throw him down and break him. But he would never, because Jisung is sitting on his lap, ass snug over his cock, looking so pretty with his round cheeks painted red and bottom lip drooping with want. He _looks_ like he wants to be ruined, and he might ask for it, but Minho wants to cherish him for as long as fate lets him.

With an upward tilt of the pelvis and his biceps bulging with exertion, he lifts Jisung into the air with ease, then slams him back down to meet the upward snap of his hips. Jisung practically screams, glassy eyes blown wide and nails digging crescent moons into the other’s skin. 

“Touch yourself,” Minho manages to whisper, his power to think hurriedly dissipating as the new position rubs in all the right ways. He’s close, and he can tell that Jisung is, too, from the way his hole clenches every time his prostate is pounded, from the frantic speed of his hand fisting his own cock, from how his mushed words have become a simple cord of _ha, ah, ah_.

Jisung tries to bounce along to the timing as he gets fucked, ultimately going stiff after he finally reaches his climax. Minho’s name lays on his tongue like a devotion when he spills onto his own fingers and Minho’s stomach. 

Minho pursues his own orgasm as Jisung becomes limp, body flopping forward to press their foreheads together. The mewls he pants out are exhausted, yet so satisfied, and the grin he supplies when their eyes connect is even more so. “Keep going, hyung.”

And, _god_ , Minho is so taken, so aroused and smitten that it only takes being asked to fill Jisung up and a few more erratic thrusts for him to fall over the edge. Jisung breathes out a quivering, low moan as Minho releases inside him. He’s probably overstimulated, but says nothing to show it, even angling his head down to seal in another lazy kiss while Minho milks out the last of his orgasm. It’s the type of kiss that they’ve shared so many times before, yet never fails to leave a fleet of warm flutters in Minho’s ribcage.

When they part, the shine in Jisung’s irises is spectacular, somewhat akin to the stars in a moonless night or the sea of lightsticks at a concert. It makes him feel accomplished, knowing that he earned the right to be able to see this. For only him to see Jisung like this.

“Hi,” Jisung blinks slow and trusting. “Your dick is still inside me.”

“It’s gonna make a mess when I pull out. In case you forgot, this isn’t our hotel room.”

Jisung purses his lips as pink dusts his cheekbones. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

Minho smirks in amusement at the fact. “I can’t believe you asked Bam-hyung for his key card just so you could get railed.”

“Oh my god, don’t mention BamBam-hyung when you literally have your cock in my ass.”

A bout of laughter bursts from Minho’s chest. Jisung grins back albeit as he shoves at Minho’s face. Something catches the corner of the latter’s peripherals and he simpers at the arrival of an idea. 

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Minho turns his head back to face his boyfriend, who is eyeing him quizzically. He drags a hand up from where they were both perched on Jisung’s waist, eliciting a shiver as he scratches blunts nails over the bumps of his spine. He uses the hand to usher Jisung into another open-mouthed kiss, one that feels like fire and burns just as bright, then removes it to grab at the sheets to his side.

They break for air, and Jisung has that sultry look beneath his lashes, expectant and a bit shy. He blinks as Minho holds the hand to their faces now, darting his attention back to meet the brunette’s gaze with a wild flare blowing his pupils wide.

“Open up, love.” And Jisung does, hanging his jaw loose for Minho to ease the butt plug onto the bed of his tongue. He twists it while Jisung bobs his head, coating as much surface area of the black toy with his saliva as he can. Minho observes the pretty stretch of his kiss-swollen lips, the drool dribbling out the corner of his mouth as it gets used. Eventually, he pulls the plug back out and groans quietly at the string of saliva that bridges.

“I’m gonna pull out, but can you be good and slide this back in for me, baby?”

Jisung catches his bottom lip with straight teeth, nodding eagerly at the proposal. He sits up a bit after taking the butt plug when it’s offered, positioning it where they’re still connected while the other hand dives down to spread his cheeks apart. Minho asks if he’s ready, to which Jisung nods once more before raising himself off Minho’s softened cock. The older winces at the overstimulation, but is quick to kick the feeling to the curb while he watches Jisung use his fingers to plug his hole until he nudges the butt plug at his rim, whimpering as he inches the whole length inside. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Minho states in awe. Jisung drapes himself back over Minho’s front, licking into his mouth before giving one last, chaste kiss and a happy upturn of his mouth. 

“I know.”

The unamused raise of his eyebrow doesn’t match the twinning smile fighting its way onto Minho’s face. “I lied. You’re the worst.” He deems it a good time to finally address the pressing issue. “You made me wait all those months for nothing.”

Jisung giggles and pecks the corner of his scowl. “The buildup made for good sex.”

Minho agrees, but he won’t show it. “I can’t believe you blue-balled me only to whisk me away at you’re liking.” 

“Well, when you say it like _that_ , it makes me sound like a brat.”

“You are the biggest brat.”

“I am _your_ brat,” Jisung nuzzles his nose into the crook of Minho’s neck, sighing happily when the latter cradles him closer. There’s a few seconds of peaceful silence, Minho tracing thoughtless shapes into Jisung’s back and willing himself to stay awake when the soft breathing on his neck grows slow and steady. He almost jolts when Jisung’s murmurs into his skin.

“I think it really was kind of bratty of me to do that,” he grips his fists against Minho’s chest in the habit that shows his anxiety might be bleeding through. “To tell you that you couldn’t do something, and then going ahead and doing it when I wanted to.”

Minho presses a firm, reassuring kiss to the mussed mess of ash blonde hair. “I’m not mad. You didn’t mean to do anything wrong, and I understand your reasoning.”

He taps Jisung’s cheek to draw his attention up, thumbing his cheek when they’re finally face-to-face. “Don’t be sorry. I love you.”

Jisung’s smile is content, relieved, love-drunk and Minho loves it. Minho loves him.

“Besides, you can make it up to me when we get home.”

“Huh, what?” Jisung is looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Is that why you wanted to put the plug back in—to _marinate me_? Dude, we’re gonna die from exhaustion.”

“I thought I was gonna die from being cockblocked time and time again, but here I am.”

Jisung groans and plops his head back onto Minho’s shoulder, huffing as it shakes with laughter. “I’m still sorry I did that. I just wanted to be able to prove to myself that I could…,” he looks frustrated when the words don’t come to him. “I wanted to just focus on everything for the performances, and I have that SKZ-Record song that we’re gonna release next month that I wanna make sure is perfect, and—ah, I don’t know. Not that you’re a distraction, but sometimes I can get distracted by, like—I mean, you know that you’re attractive. And it’s not your fault—not that you didn’t purposely put work into looking the way you do now! I—oh my god, shut up, Jisungie.”

Full cackles ring out Minho’s body, squishing Jisung’s reddening cheeks with the hand not holding him close. He’s so endeared that it bewilders him. 

“I get it,” he says after the laughter subsides. “You wanted to prioritize work, and that’s okay. I get that. I admire how hard-working you are, you know that.”

Jisung melts a little more into the grooves of Minho’s toned body. “Yeah. But then you decided to wake up and choose violence with that fucking outfit.”

“It wasn’t me, you should be thanking the stylist. When I give her the clothes back, I’m going to scream into the room: ‘Thank you, stylist noona!’”

The younger laughs with a carefree glimmer to his eyes. “We should petition to give her a raise. She knows what she’s doing.”

Minho hums in agreement, threading his fingers through Jisung’s nape and apologizing when his ring tugs at a strand. Jisung makes a sound of dismissal, then angles his face up so their gazes meet again. His features look relaxed, tired but pleased with the situation, with where they are in life. Minho can only imagine what amazing things he’ll continue to achieve as the years fly by, and how he’ll deserve every last bit of good fortune that life brings him. He’ll make sure of it. 

“I love you, Minho.” Jisung is like the sun, shining too bright in the sea of clouds and cyan in the sky. He’s like the moon, granting light to the abyss of obsidian that cloaks the night. He’s like the stars, the constellations, the air needed to breathe. 

Han Jisung means everything to Minho, and though their forever might be limited by the haunting pressures that the idol industry poses over them, he’ll fight for the chance to spend every waking second together showing that he’s grateful. He is patient, and he’s willing to wait for their future as long as he has this in the now. 

“I love me, too.” Jisung laughs, bright and beautiful, and Minho is in love.

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: i am actually asexual so I'm sorry if i don't do justice to the sensations that the characters experience. i still hope it was believable or at least enjoyable to read :,)  
> i just seriously wanted to write something canon compliant and the idea of jisung breaking the rules he was the one to make + minho being a horny little shit was way too tempting not to write  
> anyways thank u so much for reading !! let me know what u thought if ur feeling up to it and stay safe amigos :]
> 
> feel free to hit up my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/krosevilla) !


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